


And In The End, We Lose

by soullessbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Team Free Will comes across an all-too-familiar case, Dean is haunted and Cas picks up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And In The End, We Lose

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a prompt by Tumblr user freckles-and-bowlegss.

The books said that babies should be left to cry and they wanted to be good parents. After fifteen minutes of him breaking his heart, Maria couldn’t take it. She stood from the sofa despite her husband’s protests.

“He’ll wear himself out, just stay here.”

“I’ve tried and he hasn’t, and I just can’t.”

The crying stopped.

“See? He’s fine. Just like it said he’d be.”

Maria frowned. She stared out of the living room, but there wasn’t even a whimper.

“Something’s not right, Carl.”

“If he wakes up again, I’m not helping.”

As soon as she left to check upstairs, Carl opened a new beer and concentrated on his late-night match. He hissed when the other boxer caught out his favourite. The bastard.

That’s when he heard the scream.

In panic, he dropped the beer and let it pool into the carpet. He dived up the stairs and threw open the baby’s bedroom door. There was smoke, so much smoke, and his first instinct was to grab his son from the cot. His eyes burned and he called for Maria. Carl clutched his son to his chest. As he cried, Maria’s shrieks were louder. Carl snapped his head upwards. There was Maria. She was burning, too.

 

***

Sam, Dean and Cas walked back out of the house, each grim with what they found inside. The baby’s bedroom was a burned husk of what it used to be. The blue and red balloon paper had blistered and peeled from the walls, but the most unsettling part of the room was the ceiling.

By the time that the fire service had extinguished the flames, Maria Thompson’s body was broken and spread-eagled across the floor. The police reasoned that there was a terrible accident, and that it was a miracle the baby and the father had escaped before the whole house collapsed in on itself. The Winchesters knew better.

“No way are we letting this happen all over again.”

“Azazel is dead.”

“No shit, Cas. But someone’s got his M.O. and we better hurry up and find the son of a bitch.”

Sam shook his head. “There wasn’t a lightning storm this time. Or a power outage. But, get this, apparently a neighbour saw someone sneaking around the house the night before.”

“So what, some thief wanders in, tries to steal toys from a sleeping baby and just happens to make it look like Big Daddy Demon’s back in town? Come on.”

“We’d better go see the body.”

***

“Are you done?”

Cas bent back up from the metal slab after he gave Maria’s corpse one last sniff. He nodded at Dean.

“There is definitely sulphur present.”

Dean swore. He clenched his jaw and pulled the sheet back over the charred remains. It took a moment for him to pull himself together. The look of concern in Sam’s face was enough for him to return to himself. He didn’t need his brother worrying after him. Not after everything that had happened, not after he had almost sacrificed himself.

“I should have finished the ritual.”

“Don’t you dare, Sammy.”

“It’s true, Dean. If I’d done it, she’d be alive and there wouldn’t be another demon trying to do what we did.”

Dean growled. “I don’t care if a hundred more demons get out. I’m not losing you again, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. Cas had learned enough not to say a word, even if he agreed. There was nothing left to see in the mortuary. Instead, they decided to go back to the bunker and search the internet for any more signs of demonic activity, like they always did.

***

Dean and Cas staked out the motel where the husband and kid were staying. Apart from Maria’s death, there had been no other signs to follow. This was their only lead. Cas had already gone walkabout to see if there was anything nearby to suggest something was close, and if he didn’t turn up in the next half hour, Dean would go looking for him. Sam had stayed back to the bunker to try and piece something together, promising to call if he found anything else, but so far, it had been fruitless. The phone stayed silent. He had said that maybe the demon had already moved on, but Dean wasn’t going to take the chance. Instead, Dean sat in the Impala and stared at the motel’s neon lights alone. The remains of the family obviously couldn’t afford much better.

A woman walked past the motel room. Dean frowned. There was still no sign of Cas. He watched the woman as she looked up to one of the streetlamps and for some reason stood beneath it, her shadow pooled to her feet like an inverted halo. He tensed. She readjusted her purple jacket and he could hear her hum. _Atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down._ It looked like she was waiting for something. Her arms folded and the heel of her shoe clicked the concrete impatiently. When she was tired of that, she wound strands of straight blonde into curls, let them go and repeated again and again.

_This is bullshit_ , Dean thought to himself. She didn’t look like a hooker. The light above her was bright enough to show off the decent-in-daylight lipstick and blush. If he didn’t know better, Dean would have thought she was dressed in the mostly practical top and trousers of the standard female hunter. So he did something stupid. He got out of the car.

“Dean Winchester.”

The woman smiled when she said his name, but it didn’t meet the ice in her eyes.

“Listen, lady, I don’t know what your game is, but you need to be out of here. Now.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Dean. I was just waiting for someone.”

“Right.” He looked her over. “You know me?”

The woman sighed. She even leaned forward to pat the side of Dean’s arm.

“I’m not surprised, really, a monster like you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You killed that woman, Dean.”

He clenched his jaw as soon as he saw her eyes flash black.

 “You son of a bitch. What, you too scared to ask me out face to face?”

“And here I thought you’d be proud of me. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? It’s what your _boss_ wanted.”

The colour drained from his face. Tension left the fists that had been ready to take the bitch down and he stood with stones that dropped from his chest to his stomach.

_—please please stop please I can’t I can’t help me you’re not like them let me go I never meant to do anything I’m a Christian I believe in Jesus oh fucking Jesus help me no stop I please anything anything I’ll do what you want I swear oh my god please please please no please not that not again I’ve learned my lesson I swear I had kids—_

“So you do remember. How was escaping from Hell?”

_—shut your goddamn mouth—_

“Veronica.”

_—not the knives again I please no not that stop hurting me I’m not a bad person please I swear please this can’t be real let me go let me go please stop please help me—_

“I thought that’d get your attention.”

Dean should have grabbed her. He should have started the exorcism by now. His shoulders slumped and his eyes glazed over with tears that caught the back of his throat, acid that hissed at his tongue. Veronica stepped forward and pouted.

“Don’t you like me like this, daddy? Aw, sad your little girl’s all grown up?”

_—fuck you fuck you you whore you fucking whore don’t you goddamn speak to me don’t you goddamn dare—_

“I, I’m sorry.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m _sorry_.”

When Cas returned he saw Dean shaking. Even without his angelic powers he saw the twisted face of the demon and her hands around Dean’s throat. He pulled the knife from his trenchcoat and shoved it into her spine. The air crackled and the woman fell to the ground. As soon as she let go, Dean crumbled.

***

“That was it? Just some demon?”

“Yeah.”

“And now it’s dead?”

“Yeah.”

“That was too easy. Maybe—”

“I said that was it, Sam.”

Sam frowned at his brother. Cas was as silent as he was the moment he walked back through the door. It hadn’t been hard to notice that Dean had the making of bruises around his neck, or the pinpricks of nails that had cut the skin.

“You wanna… talk about it?”

“I killed a demon, Sam. I don’t need Maury to sit and listen to my life story over some evil bitch.”

“I killed the demon.”

Sam looked at Cas in surprise. He had presumed that if Dean was hurt, Dean had made the kill. The fact that he had lied was even more worrying. Cas wouldn’t have said something that wasn’t true, not about that. Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother and waited for an explanation. It didn’t come. Instead, Dean snorted and left the library. Sam opened his mouth to say something, anything, but whatever was going on, Dean obviously wasn’t about to share. He was about to ask Cas for an explanation, but as soon as Dean had gone, Cas followed.

***

It took a shower and the rest of the hot water for Dean to realise he couldn’t get clean. The jets scalded his skin and he had even tried rubbing salt into the soon-to-form bruises, but that wasn’t enough either. One last rinse, that time with cold water, and he escaped to his room and all the comfort that a memory-foam mattress could offer.

“Dean.”

“Jesus, Cas, don’t you knock?”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“You need something?”

“Do you?”

Dean frowned. He was already under the sheets, so at least Cas hadn’t caught him getting in naked. He pulled a face when Cas walked over and sat beside him, far too close to him, without permission.

“Do I what?”

“Need assistance.”

“You going to read me a bedtime story? How The Angel Broke Heaven?”

Cas flinched. “You apologised to a demon.”

_—you want pain you got pain hey look at that it’s a goddamn kidney and if I go a bit further in we can get the other and fucking break out the gravy and onions—_

“I’m trying to sleep, Cas.”

“You let it hurt you.”

_—please please you’re a good person let me out I won’t tell anyone please don’t please stop—_

“Bullshit.”

“You didn’t fight back.”

_—don’t you ever say that to me you bitch don’t you ever say that to me because you deserve it and I deserve it fuck you fuck you fuck_ you _—_

“Dean?”

Dean shook his head and slid further into the bed. His skin crawled. When Cas reached forward to hold his shoulder, he shifted it away from his hand. That distance wasn’t enough. He rolled on his side to face away from him, against the normal bump in the mattress. Cas followed him. He knew enough to carefully take off his shoes before he pulled back the covers. The muscles in Dean’s back tensed. Cas stretched his hand over the top of Dean’s spine. He dropped it, curled into his back and ignored Dean’s discomfort.

“Personal space, Cas.”

The voice was strained. Cas let his nose press against the nape of Dean’s neck. His hand found the space above his navel and he let himself hold that broken hunter. Dean forced his eyes upwards like he always did to fight his tears, the pain that he had accumulated. Cas’ touch was as acidic as his tears and it burned to be near him. The pain was a salve. Cas took Dean’s lack of movement as permission, so he held onto him more tightly. Without warning, Dean grabbed Cas’ wrist. He squeezed onto it and dug his fingers in as much as he could, as if he could force the pain out, force the guilt out, through pure force of will. And Cas let him.

“Cas…”

But Cas kept silent as he strangled back his anguish. Dean closed his eyes.

“It was Hell, Cas.”

The silence was more than any embrace. Dean couldn’t stop it. He told Cas about his torture. He relived the nights where Alistair offered him an escape. He gave in and cried when he admitted to picking up the knife and cutting into that first flesh. And he admitted how it made him feel free. How his first was a woman who had died in her twenties, who had looked to him with such hope. Veronica. How he had glared at her and only remembered his own suffering, how he would have done anything not to feel that pain again. Dean described all of the instruments he used. How he used them.

Dean waited for Cas to recoil or look at him the way that he had first looked at Sam, but he didn’t. Instead, he held Dean closer to his chest and pressed a soft kiss against that point of hair. It was too much. Dean twisted around to face him.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“I heard you, Dean.”

“I made a demon, Cas. She killed because of me.”

“I forgive you.”

Breath hitched in Dean’s throat. His jaw trembled. He wished that he could think of something sarcastic, something cold. But he couldn’t. Cas leaned in and kissed his forehead when the tears started again. Each salted line was dried with more kisses and more forgiveness.

“Cas—”

There were no words. Cas kissed him softly. Dean would never have kissed him. He was too broken and lost to offer anything to anyone, never mind an ex-angel that had betrayed as much as he had loved and saved. And Dean didn’t deserve any love. But there it was. Dean let himself choke and Cas breathed to take it into himself. He locked their mouths together and Dean hated himself as he slid an arm around Cas, between the trenchcoat and his jacket, like he needed those pretend wings to curl around him. When he finally kissed back, he needed more. He dared Cas to stay, to be trapped in his misery, and he nipped his lower lip harder than he should.

There it was. Cas pulled away from him and stood back up beside the bed. Dean was sure he would leave, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He frowned at Cas’ next move. He removed his coat and folded it neatly over the chair. Next came his tie. Dean would have asked _what the hell, dude?_ but he was confused, transfixed. Each layer of clothes was meticulously folded on the seat of the chair, until Cas was as naked as he was. Only then did Cas climb back under the covers, this time with his arms outstretched.

Dean stared like he expected Cas to smite him. But he didn’t. When Dean didn’t move, Cas pushed forward anyway, slid one arm beneath him and the other around his back. Dean was forced to relent. He let his chin rest on Cas’ shoulder and only then did he wrap his arms around him, fists clenched and almost scared to let go.

“I can’t do this, Cas.”

They lay together for minutes or hours. Time meant nothing underground, and it didn’t exist in Cas’ embrace. The spell was broken when Cas pressed his mouth against the tension in Dean’s neck. The smallest of moans escaped.

“I’ll always watch over you.”

Dean moved to look at him again, and this time, he started the kiss. _I need you, Cas._ It became more insistent. Neither was sure who snaked their tongue forward, only that both were made of electricity, lightning, and hands that began to roam sent shocks through both sets of skin. The touches that were so forbidden found their way first to Dean’s lower back, and those hands cupped his backside. They both kept their eyes open, both the predator, gauging the other’s reaction. Dean was lost in blue, and Cas tried to comfort Dean’s changing shade.

When a finger probed towards Dean’s entrance, he jumped. It was gentle, as was the twin that joined it. Cas rolled circles against him and Dean groaned at the sensation, tensed and relaxed as if to pull them in, but the fingertips stayed outside, rubbing that soft marking. It was too late. The attention surged straight through to Dean’s cock, and it stood against Cas’ hip. Dean grimaced, but Cas glanced down and smiled before he grasped him. At another groan, Cas stroked.

“Cas…?”

He was confused again when Cas let go. Dean wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but Cas levered him around so Dean faced away from him again. The hand found his erection quickly though, running fingers and palm over him and a terribly slow pace. Dean started to ache. The ache worsened when he felt the gap between himself and Cas replaced with a hardness against his back. The hand dropped to lovingly map his balls, but Dean was too busy thinking about the cock that slid up and down against the curve of his ass and the warm drops of wet that he could only recognise as pre-come. He shuddered.

Cas’ hand left him, and Dean couldn’t help himself. He reached down so he could pump at himself, desperate for release, for something. Cas was too busy hitching Dean’s leg up a notch so he could press his cock against heat. Dean turned his head to look at him, ashamed but in need, and watched as Cas spat into his hand and pushed wettened fingers into him without warning. It was what he needed, a burn, pain, something to prove that he was alive and sorry and forgiven and loved. Dean pressed back against Cas for more, just so he didn’t have to say a word. The words had all disappeared, and Cas recognised that look. The fingers worked and curled, unfurled and unfurled, all to open him up. The hand retreated and Cas spat again, this time to lubricate his cock, and once more with two fingers to push in and pull out, all to be replaced by one slow, sharp thrust deep inside the Righteous Man that needed his broken angel.

As soon as Cas filled Dean, he reached forward to clasp over Dean’s hand, all so he could guide the strokes in time with his gentle thrusts. It took a wince, but Dean arched back and Cas met him for a difficult kiss. Aches in Dean’s neck were ignored. As long as they kissed, as long as they were joined, that’s what mattered.

The thrusts stayed slow. Cas was so tight up to Dean’s back that their skin slicked together, sweat and redness melting from one to the other until the thrusts weren’t enough and Dean hissed. Cas squeezed Dean’s hand over his cock and his hips rocked harder into him. It started to hurt, and that’s what spurred them on. Cas panted. Thrust faster. A slight reangle and that’s when he hit it. He knew as soon as Dean bucked forward and ignored Cas’ hand, started stroking faster. Cas had to keep up. Dean half faced down on the bed so it was easier for Cas to use the mattress for support and he fucked harder, found himself even deeper, and he felt Dean’s pulse inside him, felt him ache and beg, felt his soul just scream for him, until he realised the scream was outside, that it came from Dean’s mouth, that he was almost, almost, almost there and Cas let his teeth graze Dean’s neck and his hips pistoned and his hand was hot and covered and that noise, that yelp was Dean’s orgasm and Dean clenched around his cock, squeezed the life from him and he came too, deep inside him, deeper than he could ever be inside him, and as soon as they lost the strength from their bones Cas slid out of him and their bodies were sticky with sweat and each other.

Dean shook from the effort and shook from the shock of his desire. He swallowed at Cas, at the fact that Cas was out of him, but still against him. That Cas held the hand over his limp cock like he owned it, like he was responsible for it, but not just it, but Dean, too. Then he realised that they had kissed, like that was the most ridiculous thing, and he tiredly tried to glance over his shoulder back at him.

“Dean?”

He was almost afraid to answer.

“Yeah?”

“You’re smiling, Dean.”


End file.
